


Steal Your Breath: Version 2

by castielsstarr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sort of happy ending, Stanford Era, lots of feels I'm really sorry, this is the angsty version of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:42:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5569588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsstarr/pseuds/castielsstarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean unexpectedly drops by Stanford to visit Sam. Sam is not so thrilled to see him.</p><p>Written for the Wincest Secret Santa 2015!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steal Your Breath: Version 2

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaffeinatedMoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeinatedMoose/gifts).



> Merry Christmas to [CaffeinatedMoose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeinatedMoose)!
> 
> So, here's the thing. I started writing one version of this story and then decided, hey, I'm going to write both! So there is this angsty version and there is a happy version [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5569441). 
> 
> Come hang out with me on Tumblr, I promise I don't bite:  
> Main blog: [castielsstarr](http://www.castielsstarr.tumblr.com)  
> SPN NSFW Multi-ship Sideblog: [wingedwincest](http://www.wingedwincest.tumblr.com)

Knock, knock, knock.

The sound was loud enough to pull Sam from where he was passed out on the couch. He was on his stomach and his head jerked up on the second set of knocks at his door. He wiped his hand across his mouth where drool had slicked down his chin and he grimaced. God, what the fuck had happened last night?

Knock, knock, knock.

Whoever was at the door was going to get it. If one of his roommates had locked themselves out again, he should just let them rot out there. When his feet hit the ground, he tipped over three empty beer bottles. Oh, that must be why his head hurts so much and his mouth feels like cotton. He had been watching movies last night with a six-pack of beer, only to find out that his tolerance was higher than he thought and one six-pack turned into two.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

“I’m coming!” Sam hollered as the knocking grew more persistent. “Jesus, it’s seven in the morning, what do you wa—” He had yanked the door open to find the thing he least expected.

His brother stood there smiling at him with the same cheeky grin he used when they were kids. “Merry Christmas, Sammy.”

Sam just stood and stared, his mouth working around words that wouldn’t come out.

Dean’s smile faltered a little at the corners, but he tried to keep it up. “What? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Yeah, um… come in.” Sam stepped back and held the door wide for him to enter. He knew the words weren’t convincing enough, but he was just too stunned to come up with something more to say yet. That and the pounding on the inside of his skull wasn’t helping much either.

Dean let out a low whistle as he took in the number of empty beer bottles scattered across the floor in front of the couch. “You have a rough night?”

Sam shook his head and started to gather some of them up to be placed in the recycling. “No, it’s nothing. I just had a night in by myself.”

“Yeah, I get that. Usually my company of choice is a bottle of Jack, though. Does the job quicker with a lot less carbonation.” He dropped his duffle bag on the floor next to the end table and plopped himself down on the couch. “So, how you been?”

“I’m ok.” Sam went and dropped the bottles in the bin and came back. He ran a hand through his hair, taking a moment to think of what he might possibly say. Honestly, he might as well cut to the chase. “Dean… why are you here?” The question was a combination of frustrated and resigned. 

The smile fell from Dean’s face in one swift movement. They both knew this conversation was obviously going to happen, but that didn’t stop him from not wanting to face it. He tried to find the correct words before speaking, but Sam was too nervous to wait in the silence.

“Did Bobby kick you out? Are you on the run from the police?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.”

“Are you here to ask me to help you hide a body?”

“Sam, no.”

“Then what is it? What business could you possibly have here?” His voice was agitated.

Dean looked at his hands, toyed with the silver ring their dad had given him. “I came to apologize.”

It was Sam’s turn to be silent. His mouth opened and closed twice before he was able to get anything out. “I… I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Then, please, don’t say anything, Sammy. Just let me talk and then you can do whatever you need to. Hit me, throw me out of here, whatever will help you. Just please listen.”

He nodded slowly before verbalizing his answer with a soft, “ok.”

“Will you sit?” Dean angled himself so he was tucked in the corner with his back against the arm of the couch, giving Sam the space to sit in front of him.

Sam didn’t speak as he sat down next to Dean with his knees pulled up to his chest. For such a lanky kid he was capable of making himself so small. The worst part was that it killed Dean knowing he was the reason Sam looked like that right now.

“I never should have said those things to you when you left. It was so beyond wrong of me and I know that just apologizing for it won’t mean shit in your book.”

Dean shushed Sam when he scoffed and went to say something. “I know you’re still pissed, even after six months, and you have a right to be. I’m not trying to take that away from you. You just… you gotta know that I never meant it when I said you weren’t my brother anymore.”

Sam dropped his head to rest on his knees, avoiding the eye contact, knowing what would happen if he looked. “Sure sounded like you meant it,” he said, voice rough.

“I was surprised and angry. It just got out of hand. You didn’t even give me three days worth of warning that you were leaving, Sam. How do you think that felt? A person you love tells you that they are up and leaving you in a few days, and you know you won’t see them for a long time. It felt like every single time that Dad left us.”

“Shit. I didn’t think about that.”

“I know you didn’t. And I couldn’t figure out _why_ you didn’t, either. So, I lashed out at you instead, which was just about the worst thing I could have done.”

“Dean, I thought you hated me for wanting to go to school. For… for wanting to better myself,” Sam spoke into his legs.

Dean shook his head even though Sam wasn’t looking. “Wow, that is such a lame ass phrasing.” He chuckled lightly and he could see Sam’s back tense like he was formulating a comeback. “No, Sammy. I wanted you to go to school. I still do, obviously. But I hated you for leaving me.”

The soft hurt that Sam could hear under the layers of Dean’s bravado was enough to bring tears stinging to his eyes. How could he have been so stupid?

“So, yeah.” Dean cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for what I said.” Sam stayed silent where he was sitting, making no movement. That quiet stretched between them for a long time until Dean gave a resigned sigh. “I should… I should go then.”

“No!” Sam’s head shot up immediately and his eyes found Dean’s. They were red-rimmed and wet where he had been silently smearing his tears against his jeans. “You can’t leave. You said after I listened to you, I could do whatever I needed to.”

Dean settled back against the couch. “Ok, you’re right.”

“I need… Um, will you...” Sam started shivering and Dean noticed more tears were building in his eyes. It was the worst fucking thing he had ever seen in his life.

Dean wasn’t enough of an asshole to make him stumble through the rest of the sentence. This was his little brother; if he hadn’t taken the opportunity and punched him already, Dean knew what he needed. “Sammy, come here.” 

Sam immediately crawled across the couch to Dean and into his arms. Dean shifted his legs, one dropped over the edge of the couch and the other tucked out of the way. He scooched down a little too, to make more of Sam's weight against his chest. “You're ok, little brother.”

That only caused Sam to shake harder, the tremors bleeding into Dean’s chest. The soft chanting of “I'm sorry” in both of their voices was the only sound in the room for a long time. He carded a hand into Sam's hair, simultaneously holding him still and gently massaging his scalp.

Finally, Sam started to settle down after a while. He was still sniffling lightly when he turned his face up into Dean’s neck, his nose pressed under the hinge of his jaw. Dean could tell he was inhaling his scent, the way he used to do when he had nightmares as a kid and Dean would rock him back to sleep. He was rubbing Sam’s back when he noticed that Sam had tilted his head further and was mouthing lightly at Dean’s neck.

Did he mean anything by it or was it just a comfort leftover from when they were together? His question was answered when Sam pushed himself up to place a soft kiss to Dean’s lips. Sam tasted sweet regardless of the morning breath. His little Sammy would always tasted like candy or soda, and that’s how he would remember him. When Dean didn’t move to deepen the kiss, Sam did it himself, licking into Dean’s mouth, teasing their tongues together. Dean found his hands tangled in the back of Sam’s hair as the younger boy started to palm at the front of his jeans where his erection pressed tight to them.

Something in him snapped then and he wasn’t able to identify what it was. What he knew was that he was hauling Sam off the couch and further into the apartment. His goal was a bedroom, but he got as far as the kitchen before he had to stop and kiss Sam again. Dean caught his lips with his and his tongue reached so far into Sam’s mouth it was like he was trying to rip the moans and oxygen from his lungs and swallow them down.

He backed Sam against the edge of the table, still kissing deeply, and forced him to lay across it. They should be talking about this. When he got here, Sam still hated him; there was a chance he didn’t want this—want him. Instead, he ran hands all over Sam’s body, starting at his shoulders, moving down over his chest, stomach, hips and thighs. Even through his clothes, Dean’s touch felt like electricity running through Sam. His hands gripped hard at Sam’s thighs when he stopped, trying to regain control that he had clearly lost in the last few minutes.

“De,” Sam’s voice was small beneath him. “I need you.” It didn’t sound right—those words coming from a person he had hurt so badly. How could his perfect little brother need him with all his fucked up baggage?

“Sam, I—”

Dean looked like he was going to back away, so Sam reached up and balled his fist into the front of Dean’s shirt. “Please? I promise I forgive you and I promise I want this, just please.” Sam’s voice was starting to crack on the last words and Dean leaned in and crashed their lips together again. He couldn’t hear that voice any longer, knowing he made Sam sound that way. At least when they were kissing he was quiet, except for any slight moans he would make against Dean’s mouth.

He pulled back enough to get his hands between them, working Sam’s pants open and shoving them and his boxers down around his thighs. With them out of the way, he ran his palm over Sam’s cock, not wrapping his hand around the thick warmth. Sam moaned against Dean’s mouth in that breathy way he always did. Dean wanted to drink him down, breathe him in, anything to keep a part of Sam inside of him. Make sure he never went away again.

The kiss broke as they both came up for air. Sam lay there gasping in breaths while Dean shifted down the length of his body and suckled lightly at the head of his cock, tongue lightly slipping into the slit over and over again. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck, fuck. Please, please.” His words were no more than consistent whining and his back was arching beautifully.

Dean chuckled once before sliding the entire length of Sam into his mouth, the tip hitting the back of his throat as he swallowed. He held him down, muscles fluttering with each repeated swallow, until he needed to breathe and pulled off. “You good, Sammy?”

“De, I… fuck.” Sam’s voice sounded thick. Whether it was arousal or tears, he couldn’t be sure.

Dean placed small kisses along his hips, nuzzling his nose just a little into the soft curls at the base of his shaft that held a scent that was pure Sam. “Sh, sh, sh, sh, little brother. It’s ok. I’ll take care of you.” He straightened back up to get the whole view of Sam, panting lightly and liquid brimming in his eyes.

Sam’s mouth opened wide and he gasped as Dean’s hands found his cock and his throat simultaneously. He pressed down enough to barely cut off Sam’s inhalations and stroked his length, paying special attention to the head. The tears started to roll from the corners of his eyes and his body was shaking.

Fuck, had Dean read this wrong? He removed his hand quickly, ready to apologize to Sam once again, when he pulled Dean’s hand back around his throat. It wasn’t easy this time now that Sam had taken control. He gripped around Dean’s hand, forcing his fingers tight, closing any chance at air.

The expression that settled over his face was incredible. Seriously, Dean wanted to frame it and put it in the fucking Louvre. It was pain, fight, pleasure, and bliss. Dean leaned over to kiss and suck at the bottom lip of Sam’s mouth, which was forced wide with the struggle to get air.

“You let me know what you need,” he whispered in Sam’s ear. The muscles in Sam’s stomach were rippling hard, contracting and clenching as Dean continued to stroke him quickly. He could feel Sam’s cock giving slight twitches in his hand and he knew he was close. “Anything, baby boy.” 

He thought about stopping the words that were about to come pouring out, but he knew Sam needed to hear them, no matter if they had been said before. “I promise I’ll never leave you, even if I’m angry. You’re my brother, Sammy. I’ll take better care of you, I promise. I need you, too. I love you.”

Sam removed his hand from over Dean’s and Dean followed suit. Air rushed into Sam’s body, flooding his senses, letting him find release. The only sounds were his gasps as he came hard over Dean’s fist, coating his own stomach in white. As he settled, Dean moved the hand from his dick and gently ran the pads of his fingers over Sam’s balls. The shiver it caused was violent and the groan slightly pained at the extra stimulation.

Dean pulled both hands away from Sam’s body, waiting for a response, some direction as to what he was allowed next. Could he comfort him? Did he not want to be touched right now or did he want to be held? Dean knew what he would have done if they were still together, but he couldn’t be sure if any of it was still ok.

A fist found its way balled up into the hem of his shirt, pulling him back close to the table. “You mean it?” Sam’s voice was raw and quiet. “Still love me?”

Dean leaned down on his elbow, face right above Sam’s. “I mean it, I promise.” The “promises” kept falling from his lips one by one as he placed kisses to Sam’s cheeks until he smiled.


End file.
